


Defeated by the Losing

by willgr (orphan_account)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-21
Updated: 2013-07-21
Packaged: 2017-12-20 22:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/892476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/willgr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal is determined to make the worst of Will Graham; however, Will Graham makes the best of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Defeated by the Losing

**Author's Note:**

> this fanfic started out as a stupid game between eve (fittons) and me, and later became so serious that we decided to post it

Will can feel his eyelids growing heavy as he makes his way to Hannibal’s office - by foot. He doesn’t trust himself far enough to not crash the car in his current state of mind, and he’s certainly not going to risk taking one of the dogs with him in case he hurts them. No, this trip is a lonely one, but a safe one.

But God, he’s tired. He’s practically dragging his feet by the time he steps into the driveway. The dim lights from the outside of the building illuminate his drooping figure as he makes his way to the door, and gives a short but firm knock, the sound of the wood resonating planting a reassuring feeling in him. 

Perhaps, in retrospect, the feeling was not so much reassuring as tiring, he realises too late as his knees buckle beneath him and he hits the side of the porch with a loud thud, wincing as his shoulder slams into the hard surface.  
His heartbeat throbbing loudly in his ears, he barely distinguishes the sound of the door opening, and Hannibal’s voice is the last thing he can hear before he blacks out.

—

He seems to regain consciousness the next second, finding himself wrapped in a warm tartan, or even a few, he’s not sure. It just feels like there are a few clouds around him, warming him up cozily, his body relaxed and comfortable. For a moment, he thinks about how he must be in Hannibal’s office now, but his vision is still blurry and his tired brain refuses to work that much to try to figure out where he is. So he just lets it all go and lets the coziness draw him to sleep.

—

Hannibal is staring. He knows he’s staring, but how the hell can he not stare when such a fine man is lying on his sofa, charmingly sniffing at his pillow in his sleep?

As he watches, Will’s nose twitches in his sleep, and as his face scrunches up slightly, his leg starts to do a little dance beneath the blankets, as if he’s running from something. His body convulses involuntarily in one sudden jerk, and his head quivers for a good few minutes before he lies still and silent once more under Hannibal’s watchful eye.

The agent’s psychiatrist can’t help but sigh in wonder at the enigma that is Will Graham, lying here right before his very eyes, underneath his very own vintage tartan blankets. He’d considered giving him the less expensive, less authentic blankets, in case he fell ill and decided to show his dinner the light of day once more - but then had reconsidered this idea after having lain Will on the lounge sofa and watched him gently murmuring in his sleep for a good five minutes. There would be no substitution when it came to his relationship with Will Graham, be it tartan blankets or extravagant meals or whatever else came to light.

After all, when such a stunning young man is lying on one’s lounge, what is one to do about it? Rip off the blankets, shake him roughly awake, and send him packing? Hannibal gives a silent snort, wondering at how awfully rude that would be, and how unforgivable an action it would be considering the state the poor man was in at the current moment. 

But then again, what constitutes an unforgivable action in a friendship? Throwing one’s friend and patient out into the dead of night without accompaniment when he is in such a state would certainly be classed as such. But what sort of action would be enough to ruin a friendship? Would, perhaps, assuming there was a chance of there being something more than friendship lurking in the shadows be such a sin? Would gazing at his friend as he slept and wondering if he would be completely unhappy waking up with him in this way everyday be a terribly awful thing?

Hannibal did not consider it to be so.

Would it feel awful for Will to have breakfast, lunch, dinner with Hannibal, to constantly be around him, spending every moment of his existance solely in Hannibal's possesion? Every time the psychiatrist's thought chain comes to this point, he cannot help being amazed at his own possesiveness towards his patient. Hannibal wants to own Will in every sense possible, corrupt his mind, body, and soul, be mighty enough to make him cry when he feels like the happiest man on Earth and make him laugh when seizures control his body and all he can do is sob because of the pain. Hannibal sees nothing but idiosyncratic beauty in Will's vulnerability, beauty that neither the most stunning piece of art, nor the most excellent meal can present. It is in Will's shades and semi-tones of emotions that makes his emotional background look like the finest masterpiece ever created.

For Hannibal, having Will's soul and mind in his possesion is one thing; owning Will's body is completely the other.

He doesn't want just to be able to do anything he desires to do with Will's body.

He wants to taste Will. He wants to taste every inch of Will's body, make him cry out with pleasure, make love to him until he loses consciousness. He wants to please Will until the latter sees stars with his eyelids closed, lift him to the gates of heaven, and take his own part of Will's pleasure too. There were countless times when Hannibal's head was nothing but flashing thoughts and scenes of Will in the most obscene positions. They started with the agent saying some adorable nonsense, and suddenly turned into him standing on his knees, saying even more adorable nonsense, pushing himself back onto Hannibal's dick. Hannibal would enjoy every sob of Will's, every mutest sigh and every loudest scream. In the end, Hannibal couldn't help noticing the consumer way of thinking he's always had, but as he was growing older, he started accepting this flaw of his, realising that it's impossible to get rid of it now.

Something akin to anger boils suddenly, right down in the deep pit of his stomach, thundering through his entire being. A red hot blazing cocktail of emotions stirs his soul as he reconsiders the situation - he wants to own Will, to be his master, and yet conditioning him to be such a powerful creature might contradict the action in itself. Teaching him solely to be a monster would be both an honour and a pleasure, a burning desire of Hannibal’s, but would the paradox of a monster being controlled by its master soon collapse in on itself? 

A passing train of thought lingers in this process momentarily, and the quote, “We never see other people anyway, only the monsters we make of them," surfaces and pulls the trigger he needs to make a decision regarding Will’s future in his care. Pitting nature against nurture, forcing one to win whilst the other bows down and dies in the dust, is the most terribly pleasurable thing to do to a person, especially when that person is conditioned to go out with a fine frenzy of wonder, extravagance and infinite, breathtaking pain. Conditioning Will Graham to do this; to unlock the animal and allow it to escape the cage of controlled emotions, to scrape away the chalk from the board and draw a new design, a fresh canvas on which Hannibal can project a stunning and raw beauty, would certainly be a magnificent thing to watch. 

Watching Will Graham fall to his knees and scream for the sake of becoming Hannibal’s monster would be the most delectable occurence. And so he decides as he pulls himself away from the bedside chair and lingers in the doorway for a moment, gazing at his creation; he will break Will Graham. And then, when there is nothing left but a monster - he will make him up again.

This way, Will's loyalty will reach the point when it's impossible for him to exist without Hannibal's strong hand holding him by the shoulder and keeping him where he is: bent down, on his knees.


End file.
